


Fault and Determination

by blackberrying



Category: Whiplash (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 21:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberrying/pseuds/blackberrying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fletcher visits Andrew at the hospital (post car accident).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fault and Determination

_“Neiman... you’re done.”_

Fletcher’s last words echoed in Andrew’s head, nearly drowning out the pain that rushed from his skull down through the rest of his body. The adrenaline that came from crawling out of a steaming, flipped over rental car not long ago had finally worn off, and as Andrew was forcefully escorted out of the building by a pair of men in dark suits, all he could focus on was failure, anger, and pain.

_“You’re done.”_ Fletcher’s voice taunted him. The son of a bitch was probably laughing to himself on stage right now, conducting his band through a solid performance now that the “squeaker” was gone. Andrew wondered for a second if his tackling Fletcher after his disastrous attempt at performing had had any effect on the man. Was he shaken? Was he scared of Andrew? He should be.

_“You’re done.”_ Andrew lost everything in that moment, all thanks to the one man he was trying to impress. He wanted to like Fletcher, he really did, but now as he replayed the last hour or so of his life in his aching head he wasn’t sure he could. But something still nagged at him, waited in the back of his mind. If he couldn’t perform, if he couldn’t succeed and ultimately sweep Fletcher off his feet, then what was the point in doing anything at all?

Andrew only made it a few more steps before he blacked out.

\---

The sound of a steady, constant beeping woke Andrew. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times as his vision adjusted to the bright lights above and around him. When he came to his senses, he found himself in a hospital room unsure of how much time had passed since he was last conscious. The room itself was plain and quiet save for the distant sound of footsteps and talking on the other side of the door. Andrew felt like he could just lie there forever, he thought maybe he should since he fucked up so badly, if memory served, but as soon as he noticed that he wasn’t alone, those thoughts disappeared and panic set in.

Fletcher was sitting nearby in the only chair in the room with his gaze glued to the floor and his hands on his knees. Andrew sat upright in alarm and was greeted with a sudden, sharp pain that coursed through his body. He immediately leaned back and groaned, pressing the palm of his hand against the left side of his head.

“You’re an idiot.”

“…huh?”

“I said you’re an idiot, Neiman.” Fletcher was looking right at him. Andrew had had enough of Fletcher’s comments and his shitty attitude, but he was still too shocked and disoriented to say anything that would have made any sense.

“If you’re wondering why I’m here, I heard about what happened,” Fletcher continued. “You got t-boned by a truck and you _still_ came up on stage, _still_ tried to play…”

“I… I said I would…” Andrew croaked, noticing how dry his throat was.

“Yeah, I guess you did.”

They stared at each other, both calm, each man sizing the other up. Andrew tried to read Fletcher’s expression but he couldn’t quite figure out if his now former teacher was enjoying seeing him in pain or if he was actually concerned.

“H-how did you get in here?” Andrew asked. He realized as soon as he spoke that it was a stupid question. And he sounded terrified.

Fletcher took a few seconds to respond. “I wanted to see you, that’s how. Your _father,_ I think it was… he tried to make it difficult. I take it he doesn’t like me very much.”

Andrew looked at the floor and shrugged listlessly, wanting to change the subject. The last thing he wanted to talk about with Fletcher was his dad.

“Am I still ‘done’?”

Fletcher looked up at him, studying him quietly for a few seconds before nodding. “Yeah.”

Andrew’s eyes widened. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but it hurt just as much as before hearing Fletcher continue to reject him.

“Fuck you,” He whispered, glaring at Fletcher. “I hate you.”

“Bullshit,” Fletcher said, keeping his voice low. He stood up and took a step closer to Andrew, their eyes locked. “You never hated me for a second.”

“How the fuck do you know?”

Fletcher laughed. “How the fuck do I know? Well let’s see, every time you look at me you’ve got these big, sad, ‘love me’ puppy dog eyes on and you’re always acting so desperate to please me. You’re either a blind idiot who needs a crutch and I just happened to walk by when you were feeling around for one or you’ve got some kind of fucking schoolgirl crush on me.” He paused. “Just don’t tell me you write my initials all over your notebooks.”

Andrew gritted his teeth. “Fuck you.”

“You wish.”

Andrew lunged forward slightly, wanting to actually hit Fletcher this time, but he held himself back. He looked to his side and noticed that he was hooked up to at least one machine that was beeping incessantly. If he were to get detached from it he would probably attract the attention of a nurse or someone wandering down the hallway just on the other side of the door, and the last thing he wanted was an audience. Resignedly Andrew rested his head back, his eyes never leaving Fletcher as he paced leisurely just out of reach with a smile on his face. They were silent for a while before Andrew finally thought of something to say.

“So this is what you came here for,” he stated, calming down. Fletcher stopped his pacing and looked at Andrew, curious. “To insult me some more, to shit on me and my dream… to tell me I’m not worth your time. That’s why you’re here.”

Fletcher was halfway through shrugging when he noticed the smirk on Andrew’s face. “Neiman…?”

“No… I know why you’re really here. You feel guilty.”

“Wha…? No, don’t—”

“After you found out what happened you blamed yourself, didn’t you? Thought you might lose another student to a car accident, didn’t you?”

“Neiman, don’t you fucking keep talking…!”

“First Sean Casey then Andrew Neiman… would that have upset you? Would it make you rethink things, having indirectly killed two of your best students? Or would you continue to be the _same fucking prick_ you’ve always been?”

Andrew felt the sting and heard the slap but didn’t put two and two together until he looked up and found himself staring into his teacher’s eyes. Fletcher had rushed over and delivered a silencing blow, a slap across the face not unlike the ones he’d given Andrew his first time in rehearsal months ago.

“Don’t fucking mention Sean again,” Fletcher said through gritted teeth.

“I don’t have to,” Andrew answered simply, ignoring the pain radiating from his cheek. “You have me. I’m fine, I’m still here, and I can still play.”

“Bullshit you can.” Fletcher took a step back. “You know you’re oddly confident for someone who has a broken finger and nothing to live for.”

“Maybe that’s because I also have nothing to lose. Or maybe it’s because I know that _you’re_ the one who has nothing to live for and you just don’t know it yet. You’re so far in denial that—”

“Neiman.”

There was a change in Fletcher’s expression for a split second, but it was long enough for Andrew to realize something he wouldn’t have believed a moment ago. “You care.” Andrew cracked a smile but Fletcher didn’t move. “If you lose me, you lose your Charlie Parker. That’s why you’re here.”

Fletcher looked away and shook his head. “Comparing yourself to him already? You must think you’re real important, Neiman.”

Andrew nodded, his faked confidence from earlier becoming more concrete. “Yeah, I do. I am.”

“What the hell makes you so sure?”

“You.”

They stared at each other again, almost letting the silence consume them. Andrew felt strangely powerful as he watched Fletcher take a few steps back and sigh, ready to end this.

“So… what? You want me to say something? You want me to break down and tell you I love you like we’re in some shitty Nicholas Sparks movie?”

Andrew shrugged, still feeling overconfident. Fletcher crossed his arms, studied Andrew for a moment more, and with a sigh, he walked towards the door. Glancing over at Andrew, Fletcher felt a twinge of something. Maybe Andrew was right about the guilt thing.

“…get better, Neiman.”

Fletcher exited the room without another word, closing the door hard. Andrew stared at the door for a moment, replaying bits of their conversation in his head. Tears welled up in his eyes and he blinked them back just as the door creaked open. Andrew’s father entered the room, panicking as soon as he saw his son wiping his eyes.

“Hey, hey… son, are you okay? What happened? What did he do?” Jim brought the chair over to the bedside and sat down, placing his hand on Andrew’s arm.

“He didn’t do anything,” Andrew said, gently brushing his father’s hand away. “It’s all my fault.”

Jim looked at Andrew, shocked. “That’s impossible, you haven’t done anything wrong, Andrew!”

“I messed up! I can’t play anymore, I’m done… I’m worthless…”

Jim shook his head, trying to console his son. “No you’re not. You have plenty of options. There are other music schools, other teachers—”

“They’re not the same!” Andrew shouted. “There are no other schools like Shaffer, there’s no other teacher like Dr. Fletcher…”

“Fletcher again... you really like him, don’t you…?”

Andrew was quiet for a minute, afraid to admit what his father already knew. Eventually he nodded and Jim shook his head in disbelief.

“I don’t understand you… but I know you’ll figure it out.” Jim patted Andrew’s shoulder reassuringly and he gave him a halfhearted smile in return.

“Yeah…” At this point Andrew wasn’t sure what to believe, but he hoped that his father was right and in the back of his mind he hoped he might get the chance to see Fletcher again. After all, he couldn’t be discouraged forever.


End file.
